


Kingpin

by AdventTraitor



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: M/M, Sinja, mob!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 14:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4352936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdventTraitor/pseuds/AdventTraitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ja'far has no idea what to expect when he finds that the King of the Underworld has bought out his ownership as a slave--and Sinbad's opaque smile leaves everything as much a mystery as before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingpin

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, this is a slightly futuristic dystopia, in which the mob rules everything, and Sinbad sits at the top. I will add more to it later. :3

The man before Sinbad was blubbering, his eyes wide at the request (demand) he had just uttered with a charming, dangerous smile.  Sinbad was content to wait for a coherent answer, his hands clasped and resting on the knee that was crossed on his other leg—for all pretenses, a very comfortable position.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Masrur standing at attention on his left, and Hinahoho on his right—a good show of force, but not excessive.  As if Sinbad couldn’t deal with this lowlife himself, if needed.  Ah, well; appearances were just as important as actions and words, in this world.

 

“A-Ah…sir, Your Majesty, I—I mean absolutely no disrespect, no disrespect at all, in fact I offer only the complete opposite—“

 

Sinbad raised a thick eyebrow, trying to hide the cruel smirk that was creeping into his smile.  Seeing the roaches at the bottom rung of the underworld’s perilous ladder trip over themselves trying to keep their heads always hit his funny bone.

 

The man cleared his throat at that, swallowing loudly before collecting himself and continuing.

 

“I appreciate your interest, and your patronage so far of my fine establishment—“ Sinbad glanced around at the décor, noting that while it was not the worst he’d seen, there was much to be desired— “I simply cannot give you that one.  He brings in the majority of the income, most of the new Johns—ah, excuse me, clients—arrive due to word of mouth about him…I would be losing a substantial amount of money.  Surely you understand, sir?” the man smiled, lilting a bit at the edges to give an almost pained expression instead.

 

Sinbad considered this a moment, closing his eyes and nodding.

 

“I surely do understand—but you would not be giving him to me.  I would be buying his ownership in its entirety, plus a rather generous amount on top of that.  I do not think you will find a better offer for any of your…livestock.”

 

The man was sweating, looking to the side with a worrying face, but not yet relenting.  Sinbad sighed, the smile slipping as he uncrossed his legs and sat forward, a blank expression taking his features as he did so.

 

“I don’t think you quite grasp the situation.  Let me break it down for you, in words you’ll understand: you will either let me pay you for the slave in question and he will walk out the front door with me, or Masrur will break every limb you have while Hinahoho sets your fine establishment on fire, and the boy will still walk out the front door with me.  This is the last time I will offer the former, so please do make a decision quickly.”

 

The man’s face drained of all color, his lips thinning as he watched Masrur pop his knuckles, face serene.

 

“Y…yes, I…I understand.  I am happy to sell you one of mine, if that is what you desire, sir.”  His head was hung, a look of desperation in his eyes even as they angled down to the floor.

 

“A wise decision.  Now, down to business—and quickly, as I’ve other places to be.  The standard price for a slave in good condition is ten thousand, though since he is one of the, ah…main attractions, I am willing to go up to fifty.  To cover the loss you will take for the year, I will add a million on top of that.  Are these terms agreeable?”

 

The man before him looked star-struck, his eyes wide with greed.  Sinbad could practically hear the machinations running through his slimy mind. 

 

“Ah, you are generous as ever, Your Majesty…Yes, I am honored to be of service to you,” he smiled sickly sweet, his fingers wiggling as he called a servant over, instructing them to draw up the necessary documents to sign the ownership over.

 

Sinbad stood, straightening his jacket as he began to move out of the plush office.  “Hinahoho will look over the documents, and I will go collect what’s mine.  Good day.”

 

The brothel owner was still simpering out compliments and gratitude as Sinbad moved down the hall, Masrur moving silently at his side.  It was rare that Sinbad met resistance of any kind on his turf, but he still got what he wanted—what use would the title King of the Underworld be if he didn’t get his way when he desired?

 

Sinbad rounded a corner and approached a familiar ornate door, nodding to Masrur to stand outside as he knocked.

 

It took a few heartbeats after a quick rap on the frame, but the door tentatively opened, a skittish dark eye peeking up at him.  It blinked, and the door opened to reveal a slight boy, all pale skin and freckles, with white hair hanging down to frame his round face—a sight of rare beauty, especially in these parts.  He wore loose robes, so big on him that they hung out in odd places, distorting the perfect figure Sinbad knew hid underneath.  He looked up at Sinbad in surprise, biting his lip for a moment before he put on the smile he wore for customers.

 

“Ah, Your Majesty, I was not informed that you had an appointment today—not that it’s a problem.  Please, come in,” he murmured softly.

 

“Thank you,” Sinbad responded, stepping in behind him.  Ja’far let the robes slide from his shoulders, cascading down his frame to leave him naked, still facing away from the other.

 

“What does my king want for today?” he asked, standing immobile as the robes finished pooling at his feet.

 

Sinbad was quiet for a moment, taking in every curve as though it were the first time—it was the same, every time.  His beauty was truly breathtaking.

 

“While I do love to enjoy the view,” Sinbad started, a small chuckle in his voice, “that’s not why I’m here today.”

 

The other turned at that, his eyes questioning and wary.

 

“I…see.  I’m not sure what else I can offer my king…”

 

Sinbad cocked his head, sitting in one of the plush, ornate chairs that decorated the room and beckoned the other over.

 

Dark eyes blinked in hesitation, but he stepped over his discarded robes moved across the room, putting a hand in Sinbad’s when it was offered.  He sat gingerly in Sinbad’s lap, putting his other hand on a broad chest, looking up into the king’s golden eyes intently.

 

“You’ve hated every moment here, haven’t you, Ja’far?”

 

The boy blinked, and Sinbad could tell he was searching for the best lie to tell.

 

“Ah…well, my master is not cruel, and I am well cared for…”

 

Sinbad raised an eyebrow.  “There’s no need to lie; you won’t be in trouble.  I know why there aren’t any physical marks, but slavery is hardly a pleasant thing.  The idea in and of itself is cruel…and you can’t tell me that you aren’t kept from food to keep your figure.”

 

Ja’far looked down, responding only with silence.

 

“I understand, better than you might think.  I’ve bought out your ownership in its entirety, much to the chagrin of your former master.”

 

The boy’s head snapped up at those words, his eyes wide.  “Master Jamil…”

 

Sinbad shook his head.  “Not ‘master’ anymore.  Leave the thought of him here.  Please, if you would, gather your things and we’ll depart.”

 

It took a moment for Ja’far to register what he said, before he glanced to the side.

 

“…I don’t have anything.  I’m not permitted to own anything.”

 

Sinbad smiled softly, tucking a wayward strand of white behind Ja’far’s ear.

 

“Nothing?  Not anywhere nobody else would look?  I can turn around and pretend not to know, if that will placate you.”

 

Ja’far bit his lip, before moving off of Sinbad and retrieving his robes.  Once they were haphazardly tied around his frame (Sinbad found himself amused at the inaccuracy with which they were tied), he crouched down in one of the corners and lifted a floorboard.  Sinbad watched with interest, wondering what the boy treasured enough to risk punishment—

 

Ja’far turned around, a small packet of tea leaves in his hand.

 

“I…I really like this kind of tea, but…I am not permitted—“

 

“You can have as much as you want, from now on.  Come here,” Sinbad laughed, retying the obi around Ja’far’s waist.  “Do you not know how to tie these properly?” he inquired.

 

“…No…I was never really taught, and they’re…complicated.  It’s never been that important.  Putting them on, that is.  It was all in taking them off.”

 

Sinbad nodded silently, finishing quickly.  He moved to reach for the tea leaves, which made Ja’far pull his hand back and flinch, his eyes going wide before he realized what he was doing.

 

“My…apologies…master,” he murmured, shrinking and looking at the floor before he offered out his only treasure.

 

Sinbad frowned, before he took Ja’far’s hand and curled it around the leaves.

 

“I don’t want to take them from you.  I just wanted to know what kind they are, so they can be prepared when we get home.”  He sighed, a slight resignation moving through him.  “I know there’s no way to make you believe this, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

Ja’far nodded, but still wouldn’t meet his eyes even as they made their way from the brothel.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sinbad had never been cruel to him.

 

Even after several weeks of living with his new master, Ja’far had never had a hand raised to him, nor had food been restricted to tiny portions.  Sinbad had even commented on the slight weight gain with delight, squeezing his hands into his slightly chubbier sides. He’d been given permission to go to the kitchens whenever he wished—in fact, he had full run of the manse at all times, though he chose to stay in Sinbad’s private chambers unless directed otherwise.  There was a library there, and when he was not entertaining his master, he spent his days in the window seat reading.

 

Truly, there was little better that Ja’far could imagine, after his days spent with Jamil—he was a rat, abusing his slaves in every way imaginable, killing some for sport—Ja’far felt terribly for the others still stuck under his sadistic thumb, but found himself unable to ask Sinbad for anything else after being so well taken care of as he was.

 

Another silent question he had was how exactly Sinbad had become such a force to be reckoned with—how he became the King of the Underworld while showing such compassion for another person, especially a slave.  It was a cutthroat, dirty world they lived in, and kindness was weakness that others exploited as soon as they saw it.  Ja’far never saw the business side of Sinbad’s life, which he assumed was handled differently than when he was with Ja’far in his bedroom, but still…it was difficult to see Sinbad as a ruthless killer when he traced his skin with such tender reverence, when he made love to him with such patience and care, and when he held him closely afterwards…was it even possible for hands capable of boundless compassion to be stained with blood?

 

Ja’far found his answer several nights later, after Sinbad had arrived with rather a put-off air to him.  The boy had offered himself more than willingly, letting his master pull him on top, gasping when he pressed in with minimal preparation.  His touch was rough that night—not enough to be mean or cruel, but perhaps simply…careless.  His mind was elsewhere, Ja’far could tell, so he did his best to deal with the pain.  It was not the worst discomfort he’d had in his life, after all—not by far.

 

Sinbad’s hands were on his hips, pulling him down into every thrust up, the soft slapping of their skin interrupted only by the soft noises Ja’far made.

 

“Ah, yes—“

 

Sinbad was watching him with a glazed expression, though Ja’far could detect a small amount of frustration building in him slowly, manifesting in his eyes and in the motions of his hips and hands as time went on.

 

Suddenly, Ja’far found himself on his back, and then on his belly, his hips pulled up with his ass in the air until Sinbad was in him again, his pace fast and hard, making Ja’far cry out every few seconds.  Slipping back into his old habits learned at the brothel, Ja’far let his mouth run unwittingly.

 

“Uhn, ah, master—ye—yes, please, harder, oh—uhn, uhn, uhn, _master_ — _yes_ —“

 

Sinbad finished quickly, grunting as his orgasm hit, and letting go of Ja’far after, leaving him to collapse on his belly in a panting mess.

 

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Sinbad said cooly, a slight something in his voice that made the warning bells go off in Ja’far’s mind.  He swallowed, the pleasure of the afterglow leaving him quickly.

 

“…My apologies…” he whispered shakily, moving to sit up.

 

He heard Sinbad sigh, before he felt hands on his waist pulling him over, the touch gentle once more.  He let his cheek press to Sinbad’s chest, looking up to him with timid eyes.

 

After a few moments of silence, Sinbad spoke again.  “Do you actually like it rough, or was that just for show?” he asked, expressionless.  Ja’far had learned that Sinbad didn’t like when Ja’far acted for him, like he did for the Johns at the brothel.  He liked everything to be genuine, and took it as a sort of insult otherwise.

 

“Ah…well,” Ja’far started, biting his lip.  “…With enough preparation…it feels good.”

 

Sinbad nodded, frowning just slightly.  “Did I hurt you?”

 

Ja’far shook his head.  “I will be okay.”

 

“…It’s been a long day.  I shouldn’t have taken out my frustrations on you.”

 

“I’m okay, really,” Ja’far insisted.  “It really does feel good.  I was simply…surprised.”

 

Sinbad was silent again for a while, the air less tense this time.  Ja’far was dozing when he spoke again, waking quickly at the sound of his master’s voice.

 

“I meant to free you, you know,” he murmured.  Ja’far blinked, not sure if he was expected to respond.  Sinbad continued moments later, however.

 

“I was going to buy your contract, and bring you here, where I would give you the choice to stay, or to make your own way.  But I…I’m so selfish.  I couldn’t stand the thought of you leaving, wondering where you would go, what might happen…I didn’t even really know you, I still don’t know everything I should…”

 

Ja’far found himself rolling onto his elbows, perched above his master with an interested look in his eyes.

 

“You wanted to free me?”

 

Sinbad nodded, but he had thrown an arm over his eyes, keeping Ja’far from seeing his expression.

 

“I don’t understand you.”

 

Ja’far almost immediately regretted the words, but he held strong even as Sinbad lifted his arm to look at him.  He took a breath and continued.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be…terrifying?  Yet you speak about worry, wanting to know a slave on a more personal level…and you wouldn’t gain anything from freeing me.  I’ve nothing to offer that you couldn’t get more easily by keeping me as a slave.”

 

Sinbad furrowed his brow, but Ja’far continued regardless, wondering if he might find the limit he was sure existed.

 

“Why does the King of the Underworld feel so much for a used slave?”

 

“Would you prefer it if I were to beat you?”

 

“I understand beatings,” Ja’far responded immediately.  “I understand cruelty.  I understand the careless way slaves are tossed aside once the master is finished using them.  I _don’t_ understand why the most powerful man in this world treats one such as I like spun glass…it makes me wonder what else you want from me.”

 

Sinbad sat up, pulling Ja’far into his lap and stroking at his hair softly, marveling as always at its softness.

 

“…I just see myself in you, that’s all.”

 

“In me?”

 

“A slave, left to rot with a cruel master.  The story of all slaves, I’m sure, but…I don’t know.  There was something in you I saw, and I wanted to make you better.”  He sighed, the breath ruffling Ja’far’s hair.  “But I couldn’t let you go.  And now I’m just another master holding you captive.”

 

Ja’far smiled softly.  “I didn’t know…” he started, marveling at the fact that Sinbad had been a slave once.  “But I wouldn’t leave, you know.  Even if I had somewhere to go back to…” he leaned up and pressed his lips to Sinbad’s, letting him press his tongue in moments later and sighing when he was pressed onto his back again, his legs raising to wrap around Sinbad’s waist as he gasped at the feeling of his fingers inside once more, moaning before he could finish.  “…I don’t want to be anywhere else…”

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t uncommon for Sinbad to pull his phone out and scroll through various emails and spreadsheets once they were in the afterglow.  Ja’far didn’t even know how long he’d been in Sinbad’s care anymore, only that he was content and wanted for nothing.  He glanced at the screen from his position with his cheek resting on a tanned shoulder, his hand resting comfortably near Sinbad’s heartbeat.  On closer inspection of the spreadsheet glowing on the phone’s screen, Ja’far’s eyes narrowed slightly as he added the numbers up again in his head.  When Sinbad moved to scroll to another page, Ja’far made a noise that caused Sinbad to pause.

 

“Uh…if this is not my place, I understand, but…those numbers don’t add up.”

 

Sinbad blinked, looking at the top of Ja’far’s head and then back to his screen.

 

“I never really paid attention.  What do you mean?” he asked, more curious about Ja’far’s interest than worried about the miscalculation.

 

Ja’far gingerly pointed up toward the last column, at the bottom number.  “Following the calculations at the top of the sheet…you’re missing about ten million…is this money?”  Ja’far shifted so that he was looking up at Sinbad’s face.  “I think your accountant is robbing you.”

 

Sinbad hummed, the hand not holding his phone rubbing at Ja’far’s pale back.

 

“And what are your qualifications for reading such complicated math?” Sinbad chuckled, not really expecting an answer.

 

“I was a semester away from graduating in university before I was kidnapped…majoring in accounting, among other things.”

 

Sinbad was taken aback—he wasn’t sure if he flinched or drew back or if he even did anything at all, but it felt as though the wind had been knocked from him.

 

“How old are you really?” Sinbad asked, having to rethink everything about the boy pressed up against him.

 

Ja’far cocked his head.  “Twenty-one.”

 

“Oh…well, I guess I pegged you at younger than you are, but not by much.  Still, you must have started early…did you really do all of that in your head?”

 

Ja’far nodded, looking back to the phone and going over the numbers again quickly, with the same result.  “I started university when I was twelve.  Kidnapped by one gang or another at sixteen.”  He closed his eyes, settling back into a more comfortable position with his nose nuzzled in the crook between Sinbad’s neck and shoulder.  “I’ve always had a way with numbers.  Masters don’t usually like it when slaves outsmart them, though…so I kept quiet.”

 

“Why didn’t you try to escape, if you’re at such a genius level?”

 

Ja’far huffed, but fielded the question gracefully.  “Being able to solve high-level algorithms does not equal an innate set of street smarts.  I wouldn’t know where to begin…and the terror at being caught…”  Ja’far trailed off, not having to finish.

 

Sinbad hummed in response, his hand moving to slide into soft, white hair.  “Sounds like I need a new accountant.”

 

Ja’far pressed a kiss to the skin beneath his lips, a small laugh in his chest.  “Just a little.  Though I suppose ten million or so isn’t a very big dent, for you.”

 

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Sinbad sighed, putting his phone down.  “Can’t be taken for a fool by anyone, not in this world.”

 

“Are you gonna fire him?”

 

Sinbad smirked, closing his eyes.  “Oh…yeah, he’s gonna get _fired_ alright.  The night sky will be alight for _weeks_.”

 

Ja’far shivered, not sure whether that scared him or piqued his interest…and that didn’t bother him nearly as much as he thought it should.

 


End file.
